


Things Will Turn Out Fine

by distinctive_pineapples



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, Inspired by another show, Shallurangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13924992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distinctive_pineapples/pseuds/distinctive_pineapples
Summary: “Would you mind telling me a story?” he asks, brushing a hand against the back of his head as if embarrassed by the request. “Maybe an Altean folktale, or something about your family. I… I’d just like to have something to remember you by.”Andoh,does that make her want to weep.A glimpse into the future: Allura, Shiro, and saying goodbye. But it's never that simple.[Concept based on a different show.]





	Things Will Turn Out Fine

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched season 5 last weekend. I've been in a terrible funk lately, so I barely reacted while/after watching it, but I came out of it with my Shallura feelings running high. Tried to work on a couple other ideas I've had, and when that didn't work, this idea came to me, and I decided to take on the challenge at least as a writing exercise. Let's see how it worked out.
> 
> As noted in the summary, the main concept of this fic is based on the end of a different show; I won't reveal it up here in case you're already familiar with it, because that would ruin a few things in this plot. However, you can find it in the end notes (forewarning, in case you don't want to know which TV series ends in a similar way). 
> 
> Think that's all I have to say up here. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Title from Owen Thomas's "Factors." I should note that the following lyric is "It's just a future I was meant to leave behind"...]

She finds him at the very edge of the cliff on which they’d landed the Castleship, surveying the sprawling canyon far beneath them. His back is to her—still militarily straight, but unburdened by the weight of war—though she imagines ( _knows_ ) that if she could see his face, she’d find nothing but wonder and a peaceful smile.

They’d always been so perfectly in tune with each other.

As if to prove this point, he glances back at her over his shoulder, expression as calm and relaxed as expected. His eyes even seem to brighten at the sight of her, though that could easily be passed off as a trick of the midday sun.

(It hurts less that way.)

“Did the others already leave?” he asks, and Allura’s throat contorts itself into a knot at his voice, as it’s wont to do these days. All she manages is a nod in response to the query, praying he interprets it in a more cheerful tone than she’s able to muster.

Given the responding smile, he does. “Good. I’m sure they’ve waited long enough to see their families.” He turns back to the canyon at that, and Allura’s feet carry her to his right before she can think about it. Old habits, she assumes—after standing side-by-side for so long, any other position was noticeably less comfortable.

“It’s strange, though,” he continues, lifting his human hand to his brow to shield against the sunlight. “I’ve been away the longest, yet it feels like hardly any time has passed at all. I could swear I was just here yesterday, hoping to catch one last sunset before taking off for Kerberos in the morning.” He chances a glance at her, an earnest question in his eyes. “Do you know what I mean?”

Oh, she does. In those first few quintants outside the cryopod, Allura remembered the last moonrise she’d seen on Altea—one of the last the planet itself would ever see—with remarkable clarity. But even with those 10,000 years in between condensed into a considerably shorter time in her perception, the pale blue gleam of the moonlight was considerably duller in more recent recollections.

Memories were bound to fade with time, but war had a habit of expediting the process.

Allura is brought back to the here and now as her companion carefully takes a seat on the cliff-face, crisscrossing his legs but allowing the tips of his shoes to peek out over the edge. Even in such a precarious position, he’s unafraid.

The lump in Allura’s throat gradually dissipates—both a blessing and a horror—and she knows it’s time to pose the question she’s been dreading: “What will you do next?”

For some time, she’d entertained the possibility that Shiro would answer with the desire to remain among the very stars he’d always sought to reach and help rebuild what Voltron had won back— _to once again be beside her_ , she selfishly hoped. But _Takashi_ …

Well, it wouldn’t do to get her hopes up.

His shoulders hunch in a cheerful shrug at the question. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far yet. With how long I’ve been gone and everything that’s happened, who knows if the Garrison will take me back. But maybe I’ll take Ryou for a road trip, let him experience everything personally and with his own eyes.” He tilts his head in consideration, before turning once again to the sun gleaming in the distance. “It would be good for both of us—sometimes I forget how much wonder there is to be found on this planet.”

Allura’s knowledge of Earth is still severely lacking, but she recognizes that one of the planet’s said wonders is right here beside her, though not for much longer. She discreetly curls an arm around her stomach, sinking either under the weight of the impending farewell or from the shame of wanting him to _stay_ , potentially at the cost of his own happiness.

As if sensing her discomfort, he looks back at her, worry coloring his expression. “Is… is everything alright, Princess?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, albeit weakly. The sound of her title falling from his lips still catches her off guard sometimes, even though he’d referred to her as such from the moment they met. The root of the problem was more in the absence of her name, which she hasn’t heard him say in so long—not since he’d gone from _Shiro_ to _Takashi_.

He reaches out with his right hand as if to touch hers in return, but hesitates and pulls back before she can meet him halfway. “I’m sorry, I’m sure this is a difficult adjustment for you as well,” he apologizes, voice gentle and tinged with concern. “We were all together for so long, and now we’re going our separate ways, with galaxies between us. Saying goodbye is already difficult enough as it is.”

He’s right, of course, but never even having the _chance_ to say goodbye—never anticipating that time could come so soon, so unexpected—is an agony Allura cannot translate into any Earth language. She’s familiar enough with it to know.

“You’re welcome to join us,” he offers, eyes filled with a hope that had once been so rare. “Ryou and I would be more than happy to show you the best parts of Earth.”

Allura smiles politely in response—once, in a different time, she would have eagerly seized that opportunity; now, that taste for adventure has turned terribly bittersweet. “I’m afraid I need to return to the Coalition as soon as possible,” she says ( _excuses_ ). “There’s considerable work to be done to rebuild after 10,000 years of tyranny, and without Voltron…”

She trails off at that. A time without Voltron—that had been a faraway dream not too long ago. It was still strange to think of it now that it had come true, for multiple reasons.

Thankfully, she doesn’t get much time to dwell on that.

“I understand,” Takashi says, voice soft in a way that makes Allura yearn for _Shiro_ more than she’d like to say. He pauses a moment, as if to reconsider what he plans to say next, but continues shyly, “Before you go, though, is it alright if I ask something of you?”

“Anything,” she responds, because that’s one thing that’s always been true when it comes to the man beside her.

“Would you mind telling me a story?” he asks, brushing a hand against the back of his head as if embarrassed by the request. “Maybe an Altean folktale, or something about your family. I… I’d just like to have something to remember you by.”

And _oh_ , does that make her want to weep.

Yet she manages to keep the tears at bay for the time being, and instead straightens her back and rises to the challenge. If it’s a story that he’d like, then a story he shall have—Allura’s choice is no question.

So she tells him about the traveler, with eyes as bright as the stars he so adored and who sought to uncover their mysteries; who was swallowed whole by the dark among those stars and spat back out, ragged and wounded and with but a dull shine left in his eyes.

She tells him how the traveler—the _survivor_ , now—and his newfound company came to find the alchemist, the legacy and last of her kind with incredible untapped power, who then recruited them as knights to defend against the very evil that had tormented the survivor. Yet the survivor rose to the duty of knighthood and fought with such fierce determination to protect the denizens of the galaxy from further suffering.

She tells him of how the survivor and the alchemist—co-leaders in the charge against the oppressive force—slowly began to grow even closer, moving beyond duty and into affection. Forcible separation and manipulation from third parties made it a long and treacherous path, but at last both were able to love and be loved in return.

But, regrettably, she tells him of the final battle, where the alchemist had gone head-to-head with a sorceress of considerable power, and the survivor was caught in the blowback from the two magics meeting.

The knights emerged victorious from the aftermath—as did the traveler, whose eyes rivaled the stars once more. No more was he the knight or the survivor: the clash of power had wiped away the trauma that had long plagued him and restored his mind as it once was. The only cost was all memories of what came in-between, including those of his love for the alchemist.

(What Allura declines to tell is how the cause of the traveler’s return to himself was unknown—it might have been the sorceress’s final attempt to do him harm, or the alchemist’s affinity for healing had recognized the survivor’s pain and cleansed it as thoroughly as possible.)

She ends the story on that note, and it becomes much more difficult to choke down the tears. Takashi—because that’s who he was now, at least to Allura—had asked for a story, so she told him _theirs._

She’d been so terribly torn after the final fight against Haggar, once she’d learned exactly what effect the errant magic had had on the Black Paladin. On the one hand, Shiro would no longer be stricken with flashbacks and nightmares of his time in Galra captivity, and the dawn of peacetime would ensure that any new memories of space would sate the wonder she could read in his expression. But at the same time, Allura couldn’t help the rising rage at the twist of fate— Shiro’s peace of mind came at the cost of present and future happiness with her.

It wasn’t until the first time he’d called her _Princess_ with a formality he hadn’t used in ages that she realized she could no longer think of him as Shiro. _Shiro_ had suffered unspeakable torture and endured, had assumed command in a war he had no obligation to join, had deferred to and supported and fought with and _loved her_.

The man who came out of the ruins was just as sweet and kind and awed by the new world around him as Shiro had been, but he hadn’t seen the horrors of the Galra Empire or led forces into battle or sat vigilant on the bridge of the Castleship through the night, bracing for an attack that could come at any moment. No, _this man_ was a pilot—an expeditionary pilot, not one to engage in combat—and carried innocence where Shiro had once shouldered responsibility for his team, the universe, and her.

As a result, Allura began to think of him solely as Takashi. Shiro had told her his full name at one point and mentioned that she could call him by his first name, but she’d held onto it for safekeeping, only to bring out when they’d secured peace in the universe and could love each other freely, without the constant threat of a Galra attack.

The war was over, but the rest of Allura’s conditions were unlikely to come to pass. So she’d bestowed the name on its original owner to honor the man she’d lost.

Takashi was silent while Allura unraveled their narrative and still hasn’t displayed any reaction, to the point where she wonders if he’s even been listening. She hastily turns to confront him, only for her watery gaze to fall on his pensive expression.

“I’m not sure if most Altean fairytales are like that, but the ones here on Earth usually pride themselves on having a happy ending,” he jokes, though it’s sheepish and half-hearted. “That said, there’s magic involved in this story. Isn’t there a chance that the princess could help the traveler regain his memories?”

Allura opens her mouth to reply—yes, it could be possible or even _probable_ if it had been a children’s tale, but magic wasn’t such a cure-all in reality—but her jaw snaps shut as she finally processes what Takashi just said. “Alchemist,” she corrects after a moment, voice wavering as she averts her gaze. “The magic-wielder was an _alchemist_ , not a princess. And there’s no guarantee it would work.”

“My mistake,” he acknowledges, though his playful tone suggests that it’s anything but. His expression turns serious a moment later, and he swivels his body so he’s facing Allura head-on. “But let’s say there isn’t a guarantee that said magic memory-recovery will work—that’s not a guarantee that it _won’t_ work.

“And even if it doesn’t,” he continues, carefully reaching out to touch her hand, “is there a possibility that the alchemist might give the traveler a chance to fall in love with her, as he once did as the survivor?”

One heartbeat, then two, and Allura takes Takashi’s—Shiro’s—hand in her own. “I’m willing to give it a try,” she declares.

The gentle yet radiant smile she gets in return is confirmation enough that whatever happens next will be worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pretty accurate summary of how this piece came to be:
> 
> Me: [tries and fails to get anything good out of a few different--happier--Shallura ideas already bouncing around, but is desperate to create SOMETHING]
> 
> Also Me: "Hey, remember how you're still not over the _Chuck_ finale, six years later? SHALLURA-FY IT."
> 
> So yes, the base concept for this was inspired by the end of the show _Chuck_ , a series which still holds a place in my heart even if it was rocky at times. This isn't an exact translation of the concept in question (i.e. there's a bit more of a conflict with the memory loss here, rather than, say, erasing five years of crucial character development), but most of the bigger ideas are similar. And I was definitely singing "Rivers and Roads" by the Head and the Heart--which played during the original scene--while writing this, so that still played a role.
> 
> I'm still working to get my writing mood back, so this was still pretty experimental. Hopefully it worked out okay.
> 
> In the meantime, you can catch me over on Tumblr at obscure-sentimentalist.


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